


Bloom

by Hyacinthium



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hope's Peak Academy (Dangan Ronpa), Awkward Crush, Clothing, Developing Friendships, Fluff, Gen, Introspection, LGBTQ Themes, Makeup, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 04:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20754035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthium/pseuds/Hyacinthium
Summary: Saihara Shuichi has just broken past years of semi-purposeful repression. With that, and a sense of finally having a future, the Ultimate Detective finds an unexpected reality.The strangest thing to come from being a girl, from living as herself, is Ouma Kokichi's honesty. Him changing from when he was a freshman is a bit different from... Fashion advice and information on the local communities.It's not something she regrets though.





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> I watched vids on hairstyle and makeup stuff and YES YES YES aaaaah
> 
> Tbh super happy i finally got to write this.

As far as lighting goes, the room is well lit. Especially considering the lights strung around the mirror before her. That's her first thought about the interior. Not about the chair in front of the vanity, or the many wigs atop fake heads, or even the many mannequin torsos wearing lovingly made dresses.

Before walking over to that chair and waiting is; Ah yes. What perfect and well arranged lights. 

Fitting is what she muses, that Ouma-kun can see my face right before he surprises me with clown makeup. 

She's not really sure how things got to this point. Well, not to this point in particular. Everything else has been mostly as expected. From the feeling of both relief and cloying fear, to the ignorance and the outright derision as well- but it's worth it. Being able to live as herself will definitely be worth it. Certain people may make certain comments, but… 

It's the last year of school for her classmates and herself. So, at the very least that diploma will have the right name. Feeling guilty or ashamed doesn't have to mean crumbling anymore. Once she chooses a name. 

The Ultimate Detective grips tightly onto the skirt of her school uniform, eyes closed just as tightly, "Ouma-kun... What are you doing to my hair?"

Ouma hums instead of answering her properly. His fingers are nimble and almost frantic. The pull firmly though, and she can absolutely say that it's strange. From the moment she saw the other Ultimate creating complex buns with his subordinates hair to now- its strange to imagine. But he's smoothly tying her navy strands in on themselves. Tucking separated parts into a central loop like he's an expert.

"Doooon't," a quiet slur reaches her ears, Ouma tugging purposefully at his work. He proceeds to wrap two bottom side sections of hair around the middle tail he's been fretting over. Then that too is kept together with ties, making the girl wince, before being swept under the loop of hair previously made. "Worry about it Saihara-chan! Or move."

Again those cold fingers tug and gently pull, seemingly at random. This must be how meat feels when teeth rip at it, the girl considers, though much less violent.

"We're almost done with your hair though! Then you can help me figure out how to dress for the meet up... Since it's your first time going! Just let me steal everyone's attention."

She feels her lips twitch, "You always do that."

The sound is just a bit too deep despite all of her practice. Even though she's never had a manly voice, being out makes everything feel like she's not trying hard enough. If the girl were to go out as just herself and not care about judgement- what would be the reaction. She's full of thoughts about that same question. However, Ouma has never framed anything in terms of effort.

"If it's what I'm comfortable with then I'll do it. Saihara-chan can try the same. Although I don't know how well you'll do, maybe, so for now let me do this!" the Ultimate Supreme Leader muses.

Even when he's being something other than antagonistic... Saihara Shuichi can't find an easy to understand Ouma Kokichi. Is it getting easier, she wonders, now that I'm ready to move past that name; but no answer comes for her. All she can see is the behind closed eyes burn if bright lights. Of course, Ouma continues to tie and wrap her hair.

He only refers to this as bringing out the person she is, so that everyone can see. Even before the boy made a joking promise to be sincere while they're alone. The Ultimate Detective still isn't sure how to feel about that. If this were happening a year ago though, well, she thinks it wouldn't be happening at all. 

"Regarding that topic, I've been meaning to ask about how you knew? You didn't seem surprised and even recommended a place to meet others," she asks, eyes still shut like vault doors.

"You were the biggest egg ever."

"That's..."

"And I'm not cisgender either so you know, Ouma Kokichi said trans rights."

Slowly, she opens her eyes and turns around to look at her classmate. All that she's ever known to call him or think of him as has been that too. Ouma has always been 'him' the way that Shuichi has been 'him' though- a possibility that exists in the margins of lies and honesty. There's little reason to think at all on the matter. 

Whether or not the other Ultimate is so or such, the Ultimate Detective can at least say that she's not going to doubt this. So she, and it is odd at times to acknowledge that she is in fact 'she', glances around the borrowed Cosplayer Lab and asks, "Is there something I should fix?" 

Fix: in this scenario a synonym with change, to adjust, to reinterpret the correct way; they both know that the question is a nervous yet lukewarm investigation. 

Ouma smiles just a bit different from the norm, "They and them are a biiiit better, but I'm not a woman like you are. I'm not a man either. Concepts like that are like something from an anime for me!" 

It stings in an odd and impersonal way to hear that. The girl is stunned, not from the words but from Ouma’s implications. She's not even sure that the sudden abstraction of it all is what he, they and even them both, considered a result. Yet she finds those fingers turning her back toward the mirror and thinks. Her sting fades into the rummaging of thoughts she's had for years. 

No, concepts like this indeed makes no sense at all. For her there has just been a myriad of itchy flies on skin. Year after year of them buzzing just below, while the rest of her become a distant object her mind moves. 

As that sting of confusion fades comes an inkling of worry. If Shuichi is someone whose sense of internal surrealism can at least point her one way, then what is there for someone who might have no point away from these feelings at all? She's been focused on the binary side of things because it's where she's found herself. 

Cold fingers make a few last tugs, and Ouma allows themself one last victory hum. 

"Your hair is a bit shorter than the in the video buuuut, here!" they grab one of Shirogane's many mirrors and aim it just so. 

Shuichi’s eyes dart to the reflection of the hand held mirror, and finds herself smiling at the sight of her hair. It's definitely not what she first envisioned. A hairstyle that's beautiful and elegant, but not out of place or extravagant- simple. 

"This suits me after all," the Ultimate Detective murmurs while her eyes itch. A familiar laugh fills the room when she starts chuckling, her smile never dying down. "I'm not going to wear that dress though. Something that fancy is… For dinner."

"Geez, it's only Elegant Gothic Lolita."

Ouma is pouting when she glances up at h- their face. They seem to be busy thinking now. She can't help but wonder why she agreed to this. Or, perhaps more accurately, why Ouma of all people offered her a makeover. Gold eyes blink as Ouma sighs, and the Ultimate Detective watches them step over to the pile of makeup on Shirogane's professional tier vanity. 

"I'll work with it! Since you like simpler looks it'll beeee- natural or whatever," they quickly say with not a hint of hesitation. As if that 'whatever' inspires confidence. 

Another person doing your makeup feels rather luxurious. Ouma asks small questions, their fingers rubbing primer and then swatching foundation against a cheek, ones that are both invasive and welcome. Will she keep the name, does she need help with a wardrobe- is anyone giving her enough shit to deserve a good trip to Ouma’s private gulag? The girl can barely keep up with her classmate. 

"For names I thought about, ah, Ts-Tsukimi. But no, my family has been understanding if odd."

She's not used to such a straightforward and yet perfectly nonsensical Ouma. Each thing they say lacks the usual form of lying. Instead she gets to see a focus that comes with a poked out tongue and intent scowl. Those cold fingers move quickly, moved on from testing out the right foundation. Now they're smoothing a sheer layer of liquid all over her face 

"Nishishishi, just say the word and I'll have five clowns threaten them!" 

The feeling is less uncomfortable than the Ultimate Detective has feared. Ouma is surprisingly gentle, and she can tell that they have experience. 

"Ouma-kun…" 

Even a promise of more honesty can't get rid of their jokes. 

"Do you want me to contour your face?" they start, changing gears while their voice dips, "To look more feminine. You're naturally androgynous anyway though."

For a moment she just stares wide eyed at the enbie, if that's the right term here, but an embarrassed flush pick up. She's heard similar ever since coming out. Her parents have said that she'll be an amazing woman, that she'll have little problems. It never sounds wrong when they say that sort of thing- years of acting and networking making them skilled talkers. While her classmates and uncle are more awkward. 

Less should be said of certain people she's acquainted with via workplace. 

Uncle however, is not so good at keeping his mouth shut. Even when he's fumbling and unprepared for a nephew who is actually a niece. 

Ouma’s hands and fingers are soft. The makeup brushes are ticklish though, and her thoughts are broken when they start fluttering around her cheeks. After that comes seconds long application of eyeliner and mascara, gentle brushing of eyeshadow, and all throughout the girl feels like her face is on fire. She's stuck sitting on a comfortable chair while feeling like a model. 

"Not bad!" Ouma cries, "I'll do better next time though. Oh, but we have to swatch lipsticks and…"

"Ah. I look really pretty," she murmurs, leaning towards the mirror while Ouma scoffs and mumbles. This kind of look would probably be nice for any occasion. It barely looks like anything is on her, and it's a strange plus when compared to the special effects makeup her mother used to mess with. 

Back in third grade, she went to school as a mermaid. After convincing her mother that it was a dress up day too. That might have been a mild tip off in hindsight. 

Her somehow brighter eyes linger on themselves, curious about how one stroke of pigment can be so well done, "Do you prefer this kind of thing? As a hobby I mean- you're very good."

Ouma tilts their head and taps their chin. 

"Welllll, as an orphan I steal so much shit that I ended up doing make up for money! Oh wait no uh-huh, actually everyone else has bad hand eye coordination so I do it," the Ultimate Supreme Leader explains to her. A bright grin fills up that youthful face, "But that's a lie. My parents run a salon and beauty parlor, and both of them are into various fashions and subcultures. It's why I'm so stylish!" 

She's not sure that Ouma's definition of stylish melds with her own. They seem to catch that, what with the way she looks at the ever familiar thing Ouma calls a uniform. 

A small snicker fills the room up. It's contagious, so again the girl finds herself smiling and laughing- both of them lit by the vanity lights. 

By the time they're going through the clothing hangers there's more mild talk. Ouma has brought over a ton of outfits, in addition to Shirogane's provisions, and so has she. 

"Mhm, I've been on puberty blockers for a while. When people look at me, for me at least, I don't want them to be able to make up ideas on who I am from what I look like to them."

"That really is something that suits Ouma-kun. Your way of thinking that is."

"Riiiight~? What I am isn't far in either direction, I don't care for either binaries, and I can't understand what people ascribe to them… But I know I'd also hate living in a body that isn't androgynous." 

Ouma says it nonchalantly and as though she should expect a quick, 'but I lied!. No such twist is delivered. She's caught off guard by again by them. Dysphoria not being exclusive is something she knew but hadn't expected to process in real time. It strikes her that Ouma might feel stuck. 

Likely, they must feel that way. 

"Ascribe," she ends up repeating, mind floating off due to how surreal this all is. In her hands is an outfit mainly composed of blue and white. However, there's little way to feel grounded. Golden eyes glance down at the assortment of black in Ouma’s grasp. 

Ribcage? Not unknown yet still morbid tastes.

"I think that it's incomprehensible too. But somehow I still ended up finding myself as I am. A lot of people are helping too," the girl eventually says after they're both out of the changing rooms. "Now Momota is reading books about feminism and transgender people… So-so if you come out then I'll make sure he reads one with-" 

Ouma is finally giving her a look that says her words are unexpected. There's a bright yellow contact in one eye, and even a silver wig, mascara that makes those eyes look far more artistic than should be allowed; but their disbelief is undeniable. She freezes at the sight and hurries to look away from the other Ultimate. It's a stupid thing to suggest when she's barely used to using the right pronouns for herself to begin with. Conversations with her friends are still lukewarm. 

Even so, she's trying to live her own truth now. 

If that's what the Ultimate Detective has found for herself, then it can't be wrong to offer the same to Ouma. That's simply the kind of conclusion that her logic has found. 

"Ouma-kun is actually a gentle person at times, I'll support them. I'll say that to everyone. There's no reason to hold back when you have friends," she finishes. 

A faint redness overtakes Ouma’s face, and no amount of makeup can hide it. 

"First year me would hate hearing that."

"That's… True."

At the start was a pair of them that would never be able to talk like this. Her gaze drifts towards the hardwood floor, remembering the annoyance and the confusion- how Ouma had made her weary even when she was curious. 

"I'll think about it."

Her heart skips a beat at the sound of those words, her hands twitching against soft and flowing pants. She stares down the sapphire blue of her cardigan and the clean white of an elegant blouse. If the future is like this then it'll be one she wants. To see herself in the mirror, each day, is one part of her dream. And so the girl can't help but want that for Ouma too. 

Footsteps quietly ring out as they leave the Ultimate Cosplayer's Lab. The hallway welcomes them while the Lab itself is made dark.

"Ouma-kun?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Saihara Tsukimi is a good name after all."

Glossy and pink, Ouma's smile is calm even though some level of deep thought lingers on their face. It's far from the first time that she's thought about it. Ouma has a certain kind of allure and charm no matter what. Both their looks and who they are to begin with. Now it takes the form of soft lips.

Tsukimi valiantly looks away from the Ultimate Supreme Leader, her face tingling, and wonders if the years of repression didn't extend to romantic leanings as well. At least she'll be in good company to figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a funny blurb about Kaito but it got heavy SO THATS A FIC FOR ANOTHER TIIIIIME.
> 
> Beta Kokichi is bae and Tsukimi is a goddess, thank you.


End file.
